Chapter 40 - Flags Flutter and a Soldier Dances with His Sword (3)

Every day, he learned Concentrate on a Single Point from Ragna, then plunged into real combat. That was the today Encrid kept repeating. Countless repetitions. Even as he died over and over, the technique called Concentrate on a Single Point remained just beyond his grasp. 'Don't get impatient.' Encrid shifted his focus. He would try breaking a flagpole first. When battle began again, he considered how to minimize their losses. Thinking things through and devising solutions was one of his specialties. The fog rolled in again. A fog of death. Hence the spell's name: The Fog of Annihilation. Of course, Encrid knew nothing of its name. All he knew was that he couldn't simply let it destroy them. As the fog settled, Encrid spoke before Rem could shout anything. "Everyone, get down!" Everyone was caught off guard. At the shout, even the Platoon Commander ducked his head. "Shields!" At Encrid's second shout, his allies reflexively raised their shields. His own left hand had felt empty, so he had brought one too. Running low, he held his shield at a slant.

TAT-TAT-TAT!

Several quarrels and arrows buried themselves in it. The oiled shield did its job well. 'I should have brought a shield ages ago.' Sometimes he had taken a quarrel or an arrow while running through here, starting the fight already wounded. Thanks to that, he had also grown familiar with routes that let him dodge the missiles on his approach. He charged forward as he thought. Experience had taught him that he needed to get right up close to the enemy to escape the fog's effects. So that was what he did. Mid-stride, Encrid suddenly kicked off the ground and hurled himself to the left. WHOOSH! WHOOSH! Spearheads swept through the space he had occupied. He had already memorized the pattern. Deliberately putting himself on the verge of death wouldn't let him use Concentrate on a Single Point. He had to fight desperately. Encrid resolved to do just that. After dodging the spears, he ran again, closing to within arm's reach of the enemy. Only then could he see his opponent through the fog: a thoroughly startled face beneath a rounded leather helmet. Encrid kicked the soldier's ankle. "Huh!" The man lost his balance and fell. Encrid smashed the edge of his shield into his head. THWACK! It sounded like splitting wood. If the man survived that, he would be lucky indeed. Encrid drew his longsword as he passed the fallen man, sweeping it wide in the same motion. Three or four soldiers trying to close in on him flinched. Watching them, he plotted a route in his mind. He had repeated this today more than three hundred times. He could find his way with his eyes closed. He knew where the flagpoles stood and how the enemy soldiers were deployed. To them, his movements must have seemed uncanny.

* * *

Ron, a soldier of the Principality of Aspen, was bewildered by the Naurilian soldier who had come charging the instant the fog descended. The man burst out from the left, cut down three or four of Ron's comrades, then suddenly vanished. That was truly how it looked. As though he had disappeared into thin air. In reality, he had merely dropped into a low crouch. "Aaargh!"

"Down there! He's down there!" Ron knew the fog surrounding him had been created by a spell or magic. That was why it didn't obscure his side's vision. But where it gathered thickly, it did block their view. Around their feet, for instance. In other words, they could see clearly above chest height, but not near the ground. The enemy soldier acted as though he knew that. "Kill him!"

"You fucking—!" Commotion erupted on all sides. The enemy soldier moved as though he had ten bodies. Ron tensed. The moment the man appeared anywhere nearby, he meant to smash his skull in. Tension hung in the air. "Gah!"

"Aargh!"

"Over here!" The man was still roaming through the low-lying fog as though he owned the place. Ron swallowed hard. A blade could come flying at his face any second. He needed to piss. Yet the enemy remained out of sight for a long time. Just as the tension became unbearable... "The flagpole—gah!" A scream erupted behind him. The Platoon Commander's voice. Ron whipped his head around and saw the commander pitching forward, the enemy soldier rising beside him. Emerging from the fog blanketing the ground, the man looked like a skeletal soldier rising from a grave. 'Was he alone?' A single man had come through the fog and caused all this? The man gripped his sword with both hands and struck the flagpole. CRACK! The heavy blow snapped the pole in the middle. The flag tilted sideways and fell. A moment earlier it had been fluttering noisily in the wind; now it fell silent and still. THUMP. The fallen flag kicked up dust. Through it, the enemy soldier seemed to cock his head. That was how it looked to Ron. Then the man moved again. "Kill him! Kill him!" A dying man seized the enemy soldier's trouser leg. Admirable. A selfless act worthy of Aspen's elite. His comrades swarmed the man. With two spears in his left side and five quarrels lodged in his thigh, the enemy soldier asked, blood streaming from him, "Why isn't the fog lifting? This is definitely the spell's medium." A Squad Leader sneered in place of the dead Platoon Commander. "You idiot. Why do you think there are six flagpoles?" The Squad Leader didn't mince words. The man was about to die. Knowing this would change nothing. "So five are decoys, and only one's real."

"Crazy bastard."

"Why is Concentrate on a Single Point so difficult? Then again, nothing's been easy so far."

"What are you talking about?"

"Whew. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate."

"Fucking lunatic." CRACK! After asking his question and hearing the answer, the enemy soldier had kept muttering to himself. Unable to bear watching any longer, Ron swung his spear shaft. The man's skull split, spraying blood. He lay on the ground, limbs twitching, blood gushing out. "Grrgl..." Ron turned away from the man with bloody froth on his lips. This single man had prevented an entire Flag Unit from carrying out its mission, but the battle had already been decided. It was an overwhelming victory for the Principality of Aspen. As long as they had this fog, they could not lose.

* * *

The agony of dying filled his whole body. Encrid lost himself in thought to forget the pain. 'How did I learn the heart of the beast?' The assassin had been a great help in acquiring his 'sense for the blade.' Fighting on the battlefield until he was nearly dead had helped him learn the 'heart of the beast.' But 'Concentrate on a Single Point' wouldn't come easily. Was the boldness granted by the heart of the beast getting in the way? That didn't seem right. If he could easily do whatever he set his mind to after a few tries, he would have been a remarkably talented man. It should have been frustrating, but Encrid remained calm. He wasn't anxious. There was no need to be. 'If it doesn't work, keep trying until it does.' His resolve was so firm and unyielding that he knew neither despair nor discouragement. Death came again, and he opened his eyes in the morning. Letting the sunlight and breeze wash over him, he steeled himself. "It's called Concentrate on a Single Point. Do you want to learn it?" Ragna kept teaching him as though following a predetermined path, and Encrid nodded. Yet no matter how often he learned it, he couldn't understand. He had learned something while honing the fundamentals of the Northern Heavy Sword under Ragna. A small realization: whatever you learned, you had to learn it properly from the start. 'The fear of death heightens your nerves?' No matter how he tried, it felt like ill-fitting clothes, so he asked, "How did you learn it?"

"I could just do it." Ragna said it kindly. That only made him more irritating. Why turn kind now? Encrid thought he had preferred the cutting remarks. "Just like that?"

"Yes. I shut out my surroundings and concentrated, and soon I was one with my sword." He wasn't boasting. His tone was matter-of-fact. "Was that all?"

"Yes, that was all." What Ragna considered trivial was like a star beyond Encrid's reach. Yet he felt neither jealousy nor envy. If something this small could break his spirit, he could never have dreamed of becoming a knight. They repeated the same exercise again and again. Telling him to feel the fear of death, Ragna stopped his sword just before Encrid's eyes. In sheer speed, he seemed faster than Rem. Rem had looked faster when the two fought. Their sparring match remained vivid in Encrid's mind, but facing Ragna himself, he felt Ragna was faster. "What're you doing? We've been called to assemble. And what are you doing? Using our Squad Leader as a straw dummy? Still sore about that beating I gave you?"

"What beating? The one your skull took?" Why did these two fight every time they met? "Let's just go." Back to the battlefield. Encrid had learned much through death. One lesson was that five of the six flagpoles were decoys. 'So I need to pick the right one.' Time to test his luck. This time, before the fog even rose, he charged toward the enemy troops who had drawn so close. "... Squad Leader?" Ragna's bewildered question came from behind. Anyone would have found the act absurd. "Squad Leader, have you gone mad?" Rem shouted too. The others were on the verge of muttering about what had gotten into him, whether he had lost his mind. Just then, the fog engulfed them. "Huh!"

"I can't see!" Encrid shouted as he ran. "Get dooown! Shields!" Having done this before, he had assumed they would follow his orders just as they had then. But the result was different. His allies reacted too late. Arrows and quarrels tore through them. They were still panicking when the enemy advanced with short spears and began thrusting. 'Why?' The timing was wrong. He needed to give them a moment to catch their breath after the initial shock. Knowing what was coming had caused his mistake. It was all right. He could do better next time. Others might say the goddess of luck had kissed them or handed them a sackful of coins, but Encrid knew himself well. He wasn't particularly lucky. This was the second flagpole he had picked. It required another fierce fight, just like the first. He still hadn't mastered Concentrate on a Single Point, but adding actual combat to his rebuilt fundamentals seemed to have improved his skills considerably. 'Still a long way to go, though.' Encrid measured himself against Rem and Ragna. It took three todays to destroy the second flagpole. When he finally broke it, the Platoon Commander cackled mockingly, coughing blood with a dagger stuck in his belly. "It's a decoy!"

"I know." Encrid nodded, two arrows lodged in his thigh. "... What?"

"Four left."

"What did you say?"

"Concentrate, concentrate." Was it failing because he lacked concentration? Concentrate on a Single Point was difficult. Ignoring the enemy Platoon Commander jabbering beside him, Encrid focused. He boldly knocked aside and parried enemy spears as he swung his sword. His upward cut, many times more familiar now, split an enemy's jaw. The face cleaved open vertically from mouth to nose. A quarrel flew in from the side.

THUNK!

It lodged in his flank. His armor kept it from killing him, but five crossbowmen stood somewhere he hadn't noticed. There were roughly eighty soldiers around the flagpole. Too many to handle alone. 'I need to keep an escape route in mind when I attack the flagpole.' He kept thinking, kept devising plans. He passed beyond death to learn Concentrate on a Single Point, to destroy the flagpoles. The third flagpole took five todays. The fourth took seven. 'If I were the enemy commander...' He would hide the flagpole in the safest place. He spent two todays studying the enemy formation before the fog settled. Only then did he see it: a single Flag Unit surrounded by the rest of the enemy. It was the innermost unit. Encrid gave his allies the warning shout without a mistake and ran. Everyone got down and raised their shields properly. "Rem, follow me!" Then he brought Rem along. "A spe—what?"

"I said follow me!" He shouted and sprinted off. Rem followed. "What madness are you planning now?" Instead of answering, Encrid charged with Rem into the Flag Unit blocking their path. "Just the two of you!" An enemy soldier roared in fury. Seeing him, Encrid deftly slipped aside. He crouched low, hiding in the fog and leaving the soldier to Rem. "The spell. Who's responsible?" Rem's voice called to mind a cold flame. He swung his axe. Looking back, Encrid barely caught sight of the axe, but saw the soldier's head fly off. Blood spurted from the severed neck like a fountain before the body toppled sideways with a gurgle. "I'll get my answer from the next one." Rem went on a rampage. Watching him, Encrid mapped the enemy's movements in his head. It took five todays to reach the innermost Flag Unit. Only after five grueling attempts did he manage to penetrate its ranks. Encrid used his head. Instead of attacking from the front, he slipped in from the side. Staying low, he watched for his chance and crept toward the flagpole. Then someone blocked his path. "Am I dreaming?" the man said. What was with this bastard? "God has watched over me and granted my wish. I wanted to kill you with my own hands." Encrid cocked his head at the man blocking him. He couldn't remember who he was. "... You've forgotten me after a few days?" For the other man, it had been a few days. But thanks to the repeating today, Encrid had spent a year on this battlefield alone. "Sorry. Would you introduce yourself?" Encrid spoke politely. A vein bulged on the other man's forehead. "Mitch Hurrier, Platoon Commander of the Principality of Aspen." Even hearing the name, Encrid couldn't remember a thing. "I see." He nodded, and Mitch glared. "You son of a bitch." Thoroughly enraged, the man drew his sword.

SHING!

Seeing him draw and level it, Encrid felt a flicker of recognition. 'Where have I seen him?' "Wait." Encrid raised a hand to stop him. Keeping his sword point leveled, Mitch asked, "What?"

"I really can't remember. Who are you?"

"A few cuts will jog your memory!" The man lunged. Encrid drew his longsword to meet him. CLANG! CLAAANG! Sword met sword, steel met steel, ringing with the impact. Their blades locked, then parted. Inwardly, Mitch was startled. 'This bastard?' His skills had improved dramatically.